


Trust

by NB_Cecil



Series: Doctors and Lizards [8]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Abuse referenced, Aftercare, Autistic Character, Dom!Data, Established Bashir/Data/Picard, Established Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Fluff, Garak is a needy old man, Garak is learning to trust, Grey-A-ish Garak, Healing from trauma, Implied kink, Kink Negotiation, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, M/M/M, Multi, Nemesis didn’t happen, No Sex, PTSD, Platonic BDSM, Platonic Garashir, Polyamory, Post-A Stitch in Time - Andrew Robinson, Post-A Stitch in Time canon, Post-Canon Cardassia, Romantic Fluff, Setting Boundaries, Sub!Picard, autistic bashir, established Data/Picard, negotiating relationships, sub!Julian Bashir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: Post-canon Cardassian several years into the rebuilding, building on the relationship I’ve set up between Bashir and Garak inThe Seven Types of Love... [https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543718] andThe Reunion[https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562390], Garak arranges to be out for the evening while Bashir gets some needs met with help from old friends. Heavy on the aftercare.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you will forgive me for indulging two of my _Trek_ ships and bringing them together in this fic. The _Enterprise_ is still functioning and somehow, Data, Picard and Bashir found the time to get in a few BDSM scenes together during the events of the _TNG_ episode ‘Birthright’. Don’t ask... it’s just how I want it to be, ok?
> 
> Content warning for implied kink and PTSD.

Garak fusses over the preparations. Everything is ready yet he can’t bring himself to settle. He lifts the potted plant into the view of the PADD propped up on a table at the foot of the bed and places it on the nightstand.

“Data, I understand you were an exobiology major. Do you recognise this?”

“The Edosian orchid,” A slightly tinny voice from the PADD’s speakers replies and the Android’s face looms large on the screen as he leans forward in his chair, “I have read about these. Native to the planet of the Edoans and ill-suited to Cardassia’s dry climate. Beautiful, yet quite deadly under the right circumstances. I understand you are something of an expert when it comes to the orchids’ cultivation.”

“Indeed I am. _Quite_ the expert. Are you aware,” Garak gestures toward the plant, “This is the method I used to assassinate Proconsul Merrok of Romulus?”

“Is that so?” The raise of Picard’s eyebrow, sitting on the floor at Data’s feet, is just discernible on the PADD’s small screen. 

“Be assured that if you harm my dear Doctor Bashir, I _will_ find you.” Garak’s jovial tone and charming smile exaggerate, rather than diminish the threat.

“Julian is very dear to the both of us, Elim,” Picard tries to reassure the Cardassian, “We’ll do everything we can to ensure his safety, and Data really is very skilled at what he does.”

“Then you will have nothing to fear from my orchids.” Garak smiles again.

“Thank you for trusting us.” Data says.

“That’s somewhat presumptions of you, isn’t it?” Garak inclines his head toward the PADD. “It’s Julian who I trust—despite my misgivings—to make decisions regarding his own needs and his safety in getting those needs met, not you—Ah, there you are! What a picture!”

Doctor Bashir, having emerged from the bathroom, stands in view of the PADD wearing a white silk robe embroidered with little orange flowers—orchids, of course—and full make-up. He grins coyly.

“That robe really is indecent my dear,” Garak reaches to pull the fabric down to fully cover the Doctor’s bum, “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into hemming it so short.”

“Stop fussing,” Bashir complains, “And mind out the way so our friends can see me.”

Garak reaches in his pocket for a hexagonal metal badge which he fastens onto Bashir’s robe before reluctantly stepping aside. 

“Oh my! What an exquisite little slut you are.” Data exclaims and Garak leaps back to the Doctor’s side, a protective hand squeezing tightly on his shoulder.

“Garak, please.” Julian implores, covering the Cardassian’s hand with his own. “It’s fine. This is what I want.”

“But he called you a slut!”

“Yes, I _know_.” Julian’s smile is radiant. “And it’s wonderful.”

Garak shakes his head and sighs in resignation. He doesn’t have to understand this, he reminds himself, just make sure that his dear Doctor has as enjoyable a time as possible tonight.

“Will you test your communicator please?” He gestures to the badge, which Bashir presses, causing the PADD in Garak’s pocket to bleep. “I’ll be three minutes away. If you need anything— _anything_ —I will be back immediately.”

“I know, love.” Bashir kisses the tailor affectionately on the cheek, leaving a smear of dark red lipstick. “It’ll be fine, I promise. Now, go and enjoy your evening with Kelas and we’ll give you a call when we’re done, ok?”

Garak pulls him into a tight embrace, whispering in his ear, “I love you so much my dear, be safe.”

“I will, love. I will.”

Garak turns to the door.

“Elim,” Data’s voice issues from the PADD’s speakers, “Would you mind assisting Julian with his collar before you leave?”

Garak had not been entirely comfortable with this part of the arrangement during their negotiations over subspace communication, but he had agreed once he understood the importance Julian placed on the act of being collared by another, as opposed to merely putting the collar on himself.

Garak sighs and turns back to sit on the end of the bed while Bashir fetches a wide black leather collar, identical to the one Picard—still seated on the floor—is wearing. He carries it reverently and hands it to Garak, before kneeling, facing the PADD. Garak rubs the thick, heavy material between his fingers, noting the sturdy O-ring and intricate locking mechanism. He suppresses a shudder. This feels far too close to an interrogation for his liking, which is why—he reminds himself—he’s going over to Parmak’s this evening and leaving Bashir to indulge his kinks with friends Julian assures him he has had quite delightful times with on several previous occasions.

“Do you have the key?” Data asks and Garak fishes down the front of his tunic, pulling out a small metal key dangling from a string around his neck.

He holds it up for Data to see before tucking it safely away again. Garak has hidden a spare in his sock drawer, which Data and Jean-Luc know about, should Julian need it in a hurry.

“Are you ready, my dear?” Garak asks and bends forward to kiss the curls on top of Julian’s head.

“Yes.”

Making deliberate eye-contact with the two men all those light years away in their shared quarters on a starship, with as much tenderness as he can, Garak puts the collar around his dear Doctor’s neck and feels the locking mechanism click into place. 

Bashir holds his pose, kneeling on the floor, eyes on the image of Data on the screen. “Monsieur...” He breathes. 

Garak can feel the interrogator training awakening inside himself, so practised it’s hard-wired in. It would not be good to stick around much longer. He stands as quickly as he can without breaking the stillness that has descended on the room, nods to the couple on the screen—Picard nods back—and quietly leaves, closing the door behind him.

——

In the main room of their home—the part that used to be a shed—Garak leans against the wall and lets out a long sigh, reminding himself that Data is an experienced and competent Dom—both Julian and Jean-Luc having repeatedly assured him of this. He reaches for a half-empty bottle of kanar on the table, but thinks better of it—Bashir may need him to be sober and and act quickly should something go wrong—going for the kettle on the stovetop instead. He pours hot water over dried red leaves and sits, waiting for the tea to brew.

This evening has been a long time in the planning. Garak’s relationship with his dear Doctor has settled into a comfortable partnership over the two years since Bashir arrived for a six week visit and never left. Starfleet seconded him to Parmak’s clinic, where he treats patients and conducts trials of potential treatments for the Cardassian dust cough, a condition endemic to the new Cardassia after the destruction wrought in the Dominion War. They have extended Garak’s shed into a small but comfortable home, adding on bits in a hodgepodge of materials to build a separate bedroom from the main living area, as well as the bathroom with running water Bashir insisted on as a condition of his settling on Cardassia. Garak receives a small stipend from the New Cardassian Government in recognition of his service to his homeworld during the war and after in the re-building, and he still takes in tailoring work and tends the memorial. Julian’s allowance from Starfleet is more than enough to keep them both comfortably, but Garak feels he would miss the sewing if he were to stop, and he likes to feel useful. He takes pride in doing the majority of the domestic work in their shared home: cooking, cleaning, making sure everything is ready for when his dear Doctor returns tired from a 12 hour shift at the under-staffed clinic. Bashir fusses over Garak’s chronic cough, which has eased somewhat since the machines arrived to scrub the dust from the air—it will be many years before the task is complete—but is still bad enough to wake them both in the night and for Garak to find himself gasping for breath whenever he exerts himself. He tries to persuade him to visit the clinic and join the treatment trial, but Garak’s fear of all things medical keeps him pushing Julian’s tricorder and concern away, accepting only ointment to ease the congestion in his chest and as many painkiller hyposprays as the Doctor will allow him.

As their day-to-day lives have fit together, they have fit together emotionally and physically too. Garak sprawls across his human hot water bottle most nights, relishing the warmth and close physical contact, the weight of him gradually sending Bashir into a state of deep relaxation conducive to a restful night’s sleep before another long day of treating too many patients with too few medical supplies. They have worked out a compromise between the Cardassian drive for platonic closeness and the Human drive for sex—occasional conflict arises when Garak suggests he might be ok with it even though he would rather not, and Julian insists the don’t, even though he would dearly love to, but they resolve it through careful talk and listening.

But there are urges the Doctor has which Garak cannot fulfil. It’s too close to home—to the old, Obsidian Order way—too close to past traumas for Garak to go there, especially with his dear friend and lover. And this is how it came about that Garak returned from a trip with Parmak to the public baths one evening to find Julian, bottle of kanar open on the table, flirting outrageously over subspace with two old friends from Starfleet. Initially, Garak was unconcerned—his Doctor never had been wired for monogamy after all and Garak wasn’t one to demand it—but when Bashir explained the details of the things he enjoyed with these two, and wished to enjoy again, Garak went into full-on over-protective mode, sending a terse communication to the _Enterprise_ instructing Julian’s friends to keep their distance, accompanied by not-so-subtle threats. Over the subsequent weeks they spent many hours on subspace communication with Bashir’s friends on the _Enterprise_. Julian, Data and Jean-Luc patiently explaining and reassuring, demonstrating their care and respect for each other, until Garak was confident enough not only to let them alone together tonight, but even to facilitate by making Bashir a luxurious and highly impractical new robe for the occasion, the safety precautions being as much for Garak’s benefit as for Bashir’s.

Garak sips his tea, feeling its warmth course through his body, trying not to listen for any sounds he hopes he won’t notice coming from the bedroom, but unable to stop listening anyway. When he’s finished, he pats his thigh, feeling the reassuring outline of his PADD in his pocket, stands, walks quietly toward the permanently-open front door and out into the evening, heading to his neighbour Parmak’s house where he can be close enough to rush home if needed, but not so close that he can’t pretend what’s happening isn’t really happening at all.

——

Garak snatches his PADD off the coffee table before the _ping_ has died away, nearly upsetting the chess pieces in his eagerness. 

“Elim,” Picard smiles out of the screen, “Would you like to return home? Julian could really use a hug right now.”

“Is he—?”

“He’s absolutely fine. Data’s in the other room talking to him now.”

“Oh.” Garak turns to Parmak, seated beside him on the sofa, and gestures apologetically to their unfinished game.

“Go.” Parmak says, pushing his friend gently in the small of his back.

“Thank you, Kelas for—“ Garak stands.

“Just go already!” Parmak insists. “You can save your manners for another day; right now Julian needs you.”

Garak smiles gratefully, squeezes the other Cardassian’s shoulder, scoops up his PADD and rushes out.

——

Garak forces himself to pause with his hand on the bedroom door handle, taking deep breaths to curb his impatience. His Doctor needs him to be calm now above all else. When he feels sufficiently in control of himself, he turns the handle and slips as quietly as he can into the room. 

“ _...my sweet, sweet slut. You did so well, you really did. I’m so proud of you.._.” Data’s voice intones in a rhythmic, sing-song lilt from the PADD. He starts as the door clicks shut behind Garak. “Welcome back, Elim.” He addresses the Cardassian in the same gentle tone. “Julian is quite well, but you will find him somewhat incoherent.” He inclines his head toward the Doctor, who lies naked, curled in the foetal position atop the sheets in the middle of the bed. “I advise extreme gentleness.”

Garak gives a small smile of thanks to the image of the Android on the screen and walks round the bed to kneel where Bashir can see him. 

“Hello my dear.” He strokes the hair hanging over the Doctor’s forehead and Bashir gives him such a look of ecstatic radiance that Garak’s heart skips a beat.

“He is experiencing an endorphin high.” Data murmurs from the PADD. “Talking to him will help him stay connected to us and to know he is being looked after, as will physical contact.”

“Did you do well?” Garak asks, wiping with a thumb at the smudged kohl under Bashir’s eye. His face is wet, but now is not the time to ask why he’s been crying. From the looks of it, they’re not the kind of tears Garak needs to be concerned about anyway.

“Mmmm...” Bashir reaches toward him. “Want... you... please?” 

“Of course you can have me. Any time you want, dear. Any time at all.” Garak kicks his shoes off as he speaks, then climbs onto the bed, gathering his dear Doctor in his arms. “Absolutely any time at all.” 

“We’ll leave you two be.” Picard’s voice emanates from the PADD. “Give us a call if you need anything.”

The communication cuts off before Garak can reply. He sighs deeply into Bashir’s hair. “You’ve got me, my dear. You’ll always have me.” He murmurs.

——

A gentle kiss and warm fingers smoothing through his hair wake Garak. Julian, dressed for work and with all traces of makeup scrubbed from his face smiles down at him. “Thank you for last night, my love.” He whispers.

“Not me you should thank.” Garak mumbles and rolls over onto the patch of bed still warm from the Human’s lingering body heat.

“It _is_ you I want to thank. For trusting me. It was a big thing for you and I’m grateful.”

“Hm.” Garak grunts a sleepy, half-hearted protest. “See y’tonight... I’llmakedinner.” The words slur together as his eyes close. His last thought to himself before he drops back into sleep is that Data and Jean-Luc can do that all again if it’s going to make his dear Doctor as soft and lovely as he was last night, but he’s not ready—yet—to admit that aloud.


End file.
